


(I Heard Your Heart Say) Love, Love, Love

by nerddowell



Series: The Pie-Maker and the All-American Hero [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bakery Owner Bucky, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Bucky has a Thing for a Man in Uniform, Domestic Fluff, Fireman Steve, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Sex, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, a lot of this is Disgustingly Domestic, and can you blame him, especially when that man is Steve, the followup I barely had to be asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 09:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14615544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerddowell/pseuds/nerddowell
Summary: Thor apparently got the cutting from his boss, Tony (and it blows Bucky’s mind that Thor is on first name terms with Tony Stark), who – after hearing of Bucky’s plight – wants to hold a fundraiser to get the new premises up and running. Bucky, who has a working class Brooklyn boy’s sense of pride when it comes to charity, is a little uncomfortable at the thought, but he’s not about to turn Tony Stark – Tony fucking Stark – down.Thor has been left in charge of it, as the person who knows Bucky best, and Steve, the little shit, is behind the whole thing. And, because he knows Bucky would never accept money raised wholly on his own behalf when he’s got a steady, if lower-than-what-he-really-needs, income and a roof over his head, he’s arranged it to be a joint fundraiser for the NYFD of Brooklyn. Bucky’s going to kick his ass into next week when he gets home, but the thought of his boyfriend doing this for him – even roping all of their friends into helping – makes him choke up a little, too.





	(I Heard Your Heart Say) Love, Love, Love

**Author's Note:**

> For [knittykitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knittykitty/pseuds/knittykitty), who was adorably concerned about the future of Bucky's business; and for [tracionn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tracionn/pseuds/tracionn), for being the first to request a sequel to _The Pie-Maker and the All-American Hero_ and giving me a vague plot idea to use.
> 
> Title from _Love Love Love_ by Avalanche City, from [this](http://marvelfanmixes.tumblr.com/post/96165653442/heycomicgirl-a-sugary-samsteve-mix-thats) tooth-rottingly adorable Steve/Sam playlist that I've been listening to constantly whilst writing this.

Bucky is sat at the breakfast bar with his laptop and a mug of coffee, scrolling idly through commercial real estate listings and groaning at how high the rent literally everywhere is, when Steve throws an arm around his shoulders and kisses the nape of his neck good morning. He smiles over his shoulder at his boyfriend, and Steve beams back before turning his attention to the screen.

‘There could work. Kings isn’t so far from the station on Cortelyou or my digs in Flatbush.’

‘Steve, your apartment is an hour away on the subway.’

‘But you’d have a nice commute,’ Steve says, smiling winningly at him. ‘Through Prospect Park.’

‘ _Under_ Prospect Park, you mean,’ Bucky corrects him, rolling his eyes, and keeps looking. The thought of moving into Steve’s cosy little apartment on East 19th is very tempting, however; he loves the dark varnished hardwood floors, the artwork hung up all over the walls (including a nude Steve did of Bucky in the bedroom, which he vividly remembers sitting for and can’t look at without blushing like a schoolgirl), the squashy couch and the piles and piles of books stacked in every corner. The only downside to it really is the kitchenette – a stovetop, a fridge, three cupboards and a sink. He’d be lucky if he could fit even the barest essentials of his home baking equipment in that space.

Not to mention the fact that Steve wasn’t actually _at_ said apartment more than a couple of nights a week. As the new fire Captain after Fury retired, Steve spends the majority of his time at the station. Bucky has met the guys from his unit and likes them: Dugan (1st lieutenant and also the driver/engineer), who wears a beat-up bowler hat whenever he’s not in uniform and smokes cigars like he was born with one in his hand; Morita (2nd lieutenant), a Japanese-American with a wicked sense of humour and the only one capable of drinking Dugan under the table. Falsworth, Jones and Dernier make up the rest of the career firefighters; Juniper, Pinkerton and Sawyer are the auxiliaries, although they’re treated as much as members of the core team (nicknamed the ‘Howlers’, after the screechy wail of their engine siren, completely unique among the rest of the department’s as technically it works exactly as it’s meant to, and there’s nothing visibly wrong with it except for the unearthly shriek it makes) as any of the others.

He doesn’t begrudge them Steve’s company. He doesn’t. They’re as much his friends as Steve’s. But they see a lot more of him than Bucky does, which – when he’s lonely in his flat at night and thinking about Steve laughing and joking around at the station in those moments of lull before the alarms start screaming and the place erupts into action like a upended beehive – does make his heart ache a little. They’re the ones, after all, who are going to know straight away if something happens to Steve, and who will be able to do something about it. Bucky’s the one waiting at home, hoping and praying that nothing does.

Steve is busying himself with the coffee machine, and Bucky watches him over the top of his laptop screen. He’s never going to get over the sheer ridiculousness of the proportions of Steve’s body – broad in the shoulders (nearly bursting out of the tshirts Bucky _knows_ he _deliberately_ buys two sizes too small because _Steve_ knows it drives Bucky crazy watching the muscles shift under the impossibly tightly stretched fabric), chiselled down to a narrow waist and trim hips before reaching his ass – _Christ_ , what an ass; Bucky could write sonnets to it – and strong thighs. His pyjama pants are riding low on his hips, the divot in his spine visible over the waistband, and there’s a bruise forming next to it that’s just the size and shape of Bucky’s heel.

Steve glances over his shoulder and catches him staring, his lips turning up in a smirk.

‘Keep your mouth open like that and you’ll swallow the next subway.’

Bucky snaps out of it, gives himself a little shake, and grinds a palm down against the tent being pitched in his own pyjamas. Steve’s fucked him into oblivion once this morning already, and if he lets them get distracted now they’ll never have the time to get everything else they need to get done today done because he’ll drag Steve back to bed and not let him leave until one of them dies of starvation.

Steve fills a bowl with cereal and milk, grabs his coffee and pulls up a stool next to Bucky, cracking open the spine of his latest book and reading as he munches his breakfast. Another thing Bucky has learned about Steve during their time together is that the man is a voracious reader; there are more books in Steve’s 800sq.ft. apartment than Bucky has read in his entire life, and the collection is only growing.

He shuts his laptop with a groan and rubs a hand over his face. He’s been staring at the same space on 78th for the past half an hour, and he’s no more keen to check it out now than he had been when he’d first clicked. Steve puts his book down for a moment and rests his head on Bucky’s shoulder, gazing up at him with his wide baby blue eyes fixed on Bucky’s frown.

‘Someplace’ll turn up.’

‘Not before I blow the back of my skull off outta boredom, working at this goddamn office,’ Bucky groans, and Steve sighs.

‘That’s not funny, Buck.’

‘Sorry,’ he mumbles, genuinely abashed, but it’s true. Every time he sets foot in either of their kitchens, his fingers itch to be rolling out pastry, kneading dough, or beating cake batter, to get back to baking. It’s what he loves, what he was made for.

Steve kisses his shoulder. ‘’M goin’ for a shower.’ He shoots Bucky a catlike grin. ‘You comin’?’

Bucky can’t get off his stool fast enough.  
  


* * *

  
The perfect space for his new premises comes from the most unexpected of sources. Thor knocks on the door of Bucky’s apartment one evening (so hard, as Bucky found out the next morning, that his inhumanly large knuckles actually _bruised the wood_ ) and thrusts a newspaper cutting at him, beaming all over his huge, blond face. It’s an advertisement from the commercial listings of the Times, displaying a beautiful little place on the corner of 5th and Union, with tall glass frontage and 1,400sq.ft. of space. The rent, however, is $5000 a month, which makes Bucky’s heart sink just as it had begun to leap for joy.  


He invites Thor in anyway, settles him down on the couch with a Bud Light and last night’s leftover lasagne by way of thanks, and pores over the clipping, stroking the photograph lightly with the tip of his finger. Just looking at it he’s already imagining the apple-green paint on the woodwork, the sunshine-yellow door, the retro ’50’s interior and the splashes of complementary reds and purples (Steve’s influence, he knew). Thor demolished the food in about ten seconds flat, as per usual, and thanked Bucky heartily for the ‘excellent fare’ in that weird out-of-time way he seemed to have. (Another small victory: Bucky is now James with Thor, which is one step better at least than being full-named like his Ma used to yell at him on Sundays when he made them late for church.)

Thor apparently got the cutting from his boss, Tony (and it blows Bucky’s mind that _Thor_ is on first name terms with _Tony Stark_ ), who – after hearing of Bucky’s plight – wants to hold a fundraiser to get the new premises up and running. Bucky, who has a working class Brooklyn boy’s sense of pride when it comes to charity, is a little uncomfortable at the thought, but he’s not about to turn Tony Stark – Tony _fucking_ Stark – down.

Thor has been left in charge of it, as the person who knows Bucky best, and Steve, the little shit, is behind the whole thing. And, because he knows Bucky would never accept money raised wholly on his own behalf when he’s got a steady, if lower-than-what-he-really-needs, income and a roof over his head, he’s arranged it to be a joint fundraiser for the NYFD of Brooklyn. Bucky’s going to kick his ass into next week when he gets home, but the thought of his boyfriend doing this for him – even roping all of their friends into helping – makes him choke up a little, too.

‘I am sorry, James,’ Thor says, deep concern in his voice as he lays a heavy hand on Bucky’s shoulder, ‘I did not mean to cause you sorrow–’

Bucky coughs out a laugh, wiping the tears away from his eyes. ‘I’m not _sad_ , you dingus.’ On the contrary, he’s over the moon.

Steve arrives a couple of hours later, when Bucky and Thor have drunk half a crate of Bud between them and have now moved onto an absolutely vicious game of flip-cup, with a line of five plastic Solo cups each full of one of whatever Bucky could find in his booze cabinet (a half-empty bottle of red wine, courtesy of Wanda; a bottle of vodka, courtesy of Nat, which naturally had gone into the cups neat; some sort of premixed cocktail left behind by Sam, who insisted he liked his drinks to taste palatable rather than put hairs on his chest; Steve’s Guinness; and, to Thor’s delight, a bottle of Norwegian ‘Viking-style’ mead, brought back from his friend’s last trip home and, after having tried it that once and had the hangover of the century the morning after, Bucky hadn’t touched since). So far, Bucky, a high school pro at flip-cup, is winning. Probably because Thor has considerably more crushed beer cans littered around his side of the table and is weaving slightly where he stands.

When he sees Steve, Thor throws his arms up in delight and bellows, ‘STEVEN! JOIN US! WE’RE CELEBRATING!’ at the sort of volume that would have made a twin-jet aeroplane pale in comparison. Steve laughs and shakes his head but comes and sits on the couch to watch anyway as Bucky roundly defeats Thor before helping the enormous Norwegian to the spare bedroom, where he leaves him to nap away the alcohol clouding his skull.

When Bucky comes back into the living room, Steve is smirking at him from the couch, holding the newspaper clipping and lounging with a can in his hand, having helped himself to the beers.

‘ _You_ ,’ Bucky says, half a laugh, half a growl. ‘You’re gonna be the death of me – this is too much, Steve, I can’t–’

‘If you don’t, Thor’s probably gonna try and move in here to get at your cooking,’ Steve grins at him. ‘He’s been waiting four months for his next pie already, and he doesn’t strike me as the patient type.’

‘He once broke four of my plates,’ Bucky tells him, chuckling at the memory. ‘When we met he was weird – I mean, weirder than he is now – like he was from a different fuckin’ planet or something. He’d just drop shit on the floor and yell _ANOTHER!_ , it was wild.’

Steve shakes his head, laughing, and holds an arm out to invite Bucky to settle next to him. Bucky curls up against his side happily, resting his head on his shoulder, and draws lazy patterns over Steve’s thigh, nail rasping over the weave of his jeans. Steve leans his head against Bucky’s, a low, content rumble like the purring of a large cat emanating from his chest, and Bucky smiles.  
  


* * *

  
The fundraiser gala is being held tomorrow, and Bucky has spent the entire past week poring over recipes and frantically prepping massive batches of pastry, dough, and batter, with every filling imaginable. Naturally he’s prepared the ingredients for his signature pies, from Steve’s favourite blueberry and lavender and Clint’s diabetes-on-a-plate go-to spiced chocolate oatmeal to Sam’s grandma’s Nesselrode, as well as enough sweet rolls and biscuits to feed an entire army of Thors. Steve, upon seeing the disaster zone Bucky’s kitchen has turned into, has wisely steered clear other than to occasionally come in with mugs of coffee and pastrami sandwiches bought from next door’s deli to ensure that Bucky doesn’t bake himself to death before he can actually start his business back up.  


The truth is, Bucky feels sick with nerves. He’s not likely to need even a tenth of what he’s made. In fact, he’s convinced that no one is going to turn up anyway, even if it _is_ Tony Stark throwing what is essentially an enormous lawn party that all of Brooklyn has been invited to. Bucky can’t believe that there would be any more than a handful of his closest friends, and maybe a couple of intrigued bystanders, who would see a marquee-sized bake sale going on and not think ‘From a bunch of grown men? Pathetic,’ and just keep stepping.

He works himself up into such a state that Steve has to forcibly remove him from the kitchen to the bedroom, wrapping his long, strong body around Bucky’s and squeezing tight enough that it’s his arms Bucky can feel around his chest rather than the constricting hand of panic. He’s shaking and sobbing quietly into Steve’s shoulder as his boyfriend rubs a hand over his back for hours and hours before he manages to pull himself together, and Steve blocks the kitchen off by pulling the couch in front of the door and demanding they have a chilled-out pre-gala night with Chinese takeout and shitty Netflix movies to calm him down.

(Bucky, calm down, after he’s seen Steve move an entire five-seater corner couch that really is way too big for the tiny living room it’s jammed into with his bare hands? Not likely.)

Still, once Bucky’s got some kung po chicken and mixed vegetable Singapore noodles in him, he feels much better, and although he allows Steve to keep him anchored to the couch until the end of the bad romcom they’re watching, once the movie is over he climbs over the back of the sofa and through to the kitchen. He puts the last batch of pie dough away in the fridge, cramming it between the other five parcels of pastry and such already resting there, and tidies the kitchen in a hurricane of wet cloth and surface spray until it’s gleaming and he’s exhausted.

In the morning, he bakes the last round of pies needing to be made before transferring them to boxes to be piled in the back of Thor’s truck (because _of course_ Thor drives a truck, ridiculous human being that he is) and allows them to be driven off to Prospect Park for the gala. How Tony managed to book Prospect Park for something like this at such short notice for an entire day is beyond him, but he doesn’t have time to think about that because Steve is coming down the stairs in his full dress uniform and something in Bucky’s brain has just short-circuited because he’s across the room and climbing Steve like a tree within seconds.

Steve doesn’t even take his trousers off when he spins Bucky around, just unzips at the fly and pushes them down far enough that they won’t get lube and come splattered on them, bends him over and pounds into him until Bucky’s screaming and clawing at the counter. Bucky moans and sobs and pleads, his voice fucked-out and whining, and understands how his dough feels when he pummels it into submission, under the onslaught of pleasure sending sparks up his spine and making his orgasm boil hotter and hotter in his belly.

Steve bites his shoulder to muffle a sharp groan when he comes, and Bucky – who hasn’t had the presence of mind to move his hands from where they’ve been helplessly clinging to the countertop to where his cock is leaking and begging for attention – follows, untouched, within a split second, a high keening noise escaping his mouth as he comes and comes and _comes_ , for what feels like _hours_ , against the counter before sagging bonelessly into Steve’s arms.

Steve steps back once he’s sure Bucky can stand again and wipes himself off with kitchen roll before pulling his dress slacks back up and tucking his cock in, all business, and it makes even Bucky’s limp cock twitch against his stomach.

Steve really is going to kill him, and from the wicked glint in his blue eyes, he damn well knows it.

Steve drives him to the park to help set up, and Bucky’s eyes widen.

 _Everyone_ is there. Everyone from Thor, Sam, and Clint (plus Thor’s partner Loki, a vaguely terrifying presence at the best of times but who nevertheless seems to be on his best behaviour, and Nat, who greets both of her partners with a kiss) to Tony and Pepper, Pietro and Wanda (Bucky’s painfully-hipster teenage regulars), another regular – May – with her nephew Peter, Sharon and Phil, and even the notoriously reclusive Bruce. Collected around Steve’s half of the tent are the Howlers, Fury, and even Commissioner Pierce. Bucky feels like he’s going to faint.

‘Alright, folks, all hands on deck!’ Steve commands, and their friends all disperse, Thor, Sam, Clint, Nat and Bruce all heading for Thor’s truck to unload the food, Tony and Pepper heading over to chat to Fury and Pierce (Peter trailing behind them like a star-struck little puppy). Pietro and Wanda are chatting to the Howlers as Steve makes his way over to Bucky and grins at him.

‘I told you people would come.’

Bucky just grabs him by the collar of his shirt and drags him in for the most desperate, adoring kiss of his entire life, and even Steve is blushing and glassy-eyed when he finally lets go.  
  


* * *

  
The crowds are enormous, Bucky’s baking is selling like hot cakes, and the evening is winding down when Tony beckons Steve up onto the stage to address the crowd. Bucky watches him climb the short stairs, the pull of the well-fitted trousers and jacket across his muscular thighs and back, and allows himself to daydream – for the ten millionth time that day – about getting home and tearing them off of his boyfriend before Steve opens his mouth.  


‘Thanks for coming down today, folks. As you all know, the NYFD provide an essential service to the community here in Brooklyn, and it’s partly due to that that we’re holding this fundraiser today. The fire service is kept running not only by suits like me,’ here a self-deprecating grin, and the audience laughs, ‘but by volunteers, people like you who take time out of their lives even around busy jobs and home schedules to make sure Brooklyn is safe for everyone. I’d like to lead you all, then, in a round of applause for all the men and women who do that amazing work.’ The audience clapped, even whistling and cheering in some places, and the Howlers all grinned at each other and acknowledged the attention. (Falsworth, ever the dramatist, gave an elaborate bow, to the amusement of many and the wolf-whistling of a pretty girl in the front row, who he winked at as he came back up.)

‘However, there’s another cause close to my heart being fundraised today,’ Steve says, and he gestures for Bucky to join him on stage. Bucky’s heart constricts in his chest and he shakes his head desperately – hell no – which makes Steve laugh softly into the microphone. ‘Apparently he’s shy. Still. The bakery on Lafayette was a place where, much like the park here today, the community was brought together. Mostly by amazing food, which is more than a little to blame for the way I’m nearly busting out of my uniform today–’ He smiles fondly at Bucky as the audience laughs again, and Bucky’s heart does a somersault the way it always does what Steve turns that radiant, gorgeous smile on him, ‘but also by an amazing man. After my shifts at the station, after I’d faced God knows how many fires and was exhausted and sweaty and gross, I’d be desperate for something to eat. It just so happened that Bucky’s bakery was the first place I saw, and let me tell you, the pear pie I had the first night was nothin’ short of a miracle. So when I found out that the alarm had been raised at the bakery, I was terrified. I’ll admit that.

‘Thankfully, we were able to get Bucky out safely, thanks to the quick thinking of folks like you all here, and he’s here today. I think he’s pretty grateful, but he also gets horrible stage fright so I’m sure he won’t mind me thanking you all on his behalf. He’s going to kill me for what I do next, though.’

Bucky’s eyes widen and he freezes as Steve turns, coming down the steps towards him with one hand outstretched. He takes it after a long hesitation, eyes frantic over Steve’s face.

‘Steve, what’re you doing?’ he hisses urgently, eyes darting from side to side as though expecting something to leap out at him.

‘Trust me,’ Steve whispers back, smiling, and leads Bucky – stumbling and trembling like a leaf – up onto the stage, where everyone can see him. Steve takes the microphone again and, in a playful tone entirely unlike his previous serious Captain Steve voice, says:

‘Hey, Buck, d’you remember the first thing I said to you when I first came into your bakery?’

‘You said, ‘Can I get the biggest coffee humanly possible?’,’ Bucky tells him, and Steve grins.

‘I still say that every morning to myself,’ he says to the crowd, conversational, and there’s a smattering of laughter.

‘He gave me a slice of pie – the best one I’ve ever tasted, I gotta say – and then looked pretty freaked out when the expression of pure joy on my face as I bit into it probably made my eyes roll back in my head.’ Steve smiles. ‘Then I said–’

It _clicks_ , and Bucky gasps, slamming his hands over his mouth in shock. ‘ _No–!_ ’

‘I said, ‘Are you single? Can I marry you for a lifetime supply of this pie?’’

And Steve is on one knee in front of him, a box in his hand, and Bucky’s heart thuds so hard in his chest that he’s afraid he’s going to break a rib. There’s a thin silver band in the box, with a glint of diamond set in the centre, and Bucky looks down at Steve through a film of tears.

‘And he said, ‘Get me a ring and I’ll think about it.’’

Bucky chokes out a wet laugh, and nods – his head jerking entirely of it’s own accord, because he can’t even _breathe_ , he’s so happy, and he stumbles towards Steve and throws his arms around his neck as Steve laughs into his shoulder and the whole park seems to shake with the cheer that erupts from every single person assembled there. Steve holds him close for a long, long time, letting the tears leaking from Bucky’s eyes soak into his jacket and the stilted sobs of ‘Yes – God, _yes_ , you _son of a bitch_ –’ be muffled into his shoulder until he pulls back and Bucky manages a more stable

‘Yes, yes I will.’

Steve beams, and pulls Bucky in for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

>  _My_ heart was pounding during that proposal, and I _wrote_ the goddamned thing. I'm so glad Bucky said yes.
> 
> Bucky's new premises are [here](https://42floors.com/us/ny/brooklyn/208-5th-ave?listings=1120571), and an unfurnished visual for Steve's apartment is [here](https://www.zillow.com/b/116-E-19th-St-Brooklyn-NY/40.646632,-73.961885_ll/).
> 
> In case you're wondering, the fundraiser gets enough money for the first three months of Bucky's new lease (and let's be honest, even if it didn't, Tony would have bought the place for him anyway). Tony suggests several names for the new place, including but not limited to: The Grateful Bread, Led Zeppoli, The Rolling Scones and Stairway to Leaven. Steve suggests United Cakes of America, and Thor suggests the simple but classic BREAD. (All caps. Very important.)
> 
> Bucky's bakes in this chapter are, among others:  
> [Steve's favourite blueberry and lavender pie](https://www.cloudykitchen.com/blog/2017/1/24/blueberry-lavender-pie)  
> [Clint's favourite spiced chocolate oatmeal pie](https://www.olivemagazine.com/recipes/baking-and-desserts/spiced-chocolate-oatmeal-pie/) (by my 3rd favourite ever Bake Off winner, btw.)  
> [Sam's grandma's Nesselrode pie](https://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2011/01/cakespy-pecan-nesselrode-pie-recipe.html)  
> [South African soetkoekes](http://globalcookies.blogspot.co.uk/2008/01/south-africa-soetkoekies-spicy-wine.html) (v. good. Have made.)  
> [Lemon blueberry sweet rolls](https://lmld.org/lemon-blueberry-sweet-rolls/) (the reason my boyfriend ever agreed to date me in the first place) (also nice in a vegan version with coconut cream instead of real cream in the icing, btw.)  
> [Swedish saffransbullar (saffron buns) and pepparkakor (spicy gingerbread)](https://sweden.se/collection/classic-swedish-food/article/saffransbullar-and-pepparkakor/) (pepparkakor is AMAZING. I ate about a metric tonne of it when I made some last Christmas and it's still my favourite ever to this day.)  
> 


End file.
